Too Soon
by StarBellySneetch
Summary: The thing about time is, you never know how much or how little you have of it. Sometimes, it all happens too soon.


**Disclaimer: Bones and all its characters belong to Fox.**

_This story is dedicated to all of us who have had to watch someone we love die, and to the people who helped us get through it._

The walk down the hospital corridor seemed to last forever. Brennan found her mind focus on pointless, meaningless things such as how many steps it took her to reach the elevator. It was much, much better to focus on that than the other million thoughts that plagued her mind. She pressed her hands to her eyes as the elevator doors slid shut behind her.

Time seemed to have become her enemy. It was cruel and deceptive. She had thought she had ages and ages to catch up with her father, fix what had gone wrong between them, and worry endlessly about his trial and what would become of him. It turned out that his trial was the last thing she needed to be worrying about.

Had it only been two months ago that her father told her about the cancer? Ah, the strange mixture of emotions that came with that revelation. There was the fear, naturally, but it was the hope that always ended up stabbing you in the back. You could spend all your time researching the latest cutting edge treatments, making hospital visits, and encouraging your father to fight, fight, fight, but in the end…

Brennan leaned against the wall of the elevator and took in a shaky breath. She was not ready for this. She thought they would have more time. The doctors had _told_ her that they would have more time. Up until this point, she had been unable to even cry about the situation.

Until today. After she received the phone call, she had cried in front of Cam, of all people. She had managed to tell Cam she needed to leave early without any problem but when Cam asked why… How do you find the words to explain to someone that you are going to go say goodbye to your father? Cam had the decency to give her off as long as she needed without asking the questions that were too difficult to answer.

The elevator dinged as it arrived at the fourth floor and Brennan felt as though her body was moving separate from her as she walked down the hall. Before she knew it, she was in front of the door and completely frozen. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.

The door opened and she took a stumbling step back as the doctor emerged. His smile was sad as he took Brennan's hand.

"He's still hanging on," he informed her gently. "The nurses all think he's waiting for you."

Brennan nodded, her throat filling with a painful lump. The doctor gave her hand a comforting squeeze before letting it fall limply between them. He moved out of her way.

"Do you want someone to go in with you?" he asked.

This time, Brennan managed to conjure up words.

"No…thank you doctor," she said, in a voice she barely recognized as her own. "I'll go in alone."

Nodding understandingly, the doctor left her. Hands shaking, Brennan gently pushed against the door. Her heart thumped in her chest, terrified about what was about to happen. It was too soon. He seemed strong as ever two weeks ago, before she had left to work an out-of-state case… It had all gone down-hill too quickly.

The room was dark, and it took a minute for Brennan's eyes to adjust from the sterile brightness of the rest of the hospital. There was an awful sound coming from the bed and it took a minute for her to realize that the noises were her father breathing. It sounded as though every breath was more excruciating and draining than the last. Bracing herself, Brennan took a seat next to her father and took his hand. Numbly, she noticed that he was no longer handcuffed to the bed.

"Dad, it's Temperance," she said. "I'm here."

Her voice startled her; she didn't know she was still capable of sounding so young. Her father seemed to have heard her as his head moved her way, his eyes meeting hers. He looked so wasted and fragile; the disease had feasted on the last of his strength. Her father had always been so strong. Brennan's vision blurred over with tears.

As a solitary tear managed to snake down her cheek, Max Kennan gently squeezed his daughters hand with the little strength he had left.

"I'm sorry Temperance," he managed, his speech garbled but discernable.

More tears spilled over as Brennan shook her head fiercely.

"Don't apologize Dad," she whispered. "You have nothing to apologize for."

He closed his eyes briefly at her words.

"Dad?" Brennan gasped, not quite ready to let him go yet.

Her father opened his eyes back up, but they were so glazed over and distant, Brennan wasn't sure he was seeing anything. He was gasping for breath, trying to say something, but unable to get enough air. Brennan leaned closer so he might whisper it to her.

"Russ?" he asked in a rasping whisper.

Brennan's tears fell on her father's face as she heard his feeble question.

"I couldn't find him Dad," she told him, holding his fragile hand between two of her own. "But he loves you so much Dad… we both do."

This time a small smile tugged at Max Kennan's lips, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut again. Heart pounding and her vision obscured by tears, Brennan held his hand and waited.

* * *

Two hours later, Brennan found herself in a softly lit office, filling out paperwork. She had accepted the hospital staff's condolences with as much grace as she could muster, but as she signed her name on the last form, her hand shook so hard the signature was illegible. Nevertheless, the doctor accepted the form wordlessly.

She had been unable to cry ever since a sympathetic nurse had led her from her father's room and into the office. Her hands were shaking, her lips trembled, her throat ached, but her eyes were dry. She felt the doctor's eyes on her as she attempted to take a few stabilizing breaths.

"Is there anyone who can give you a ride home?" he asked apprehensively. "You're in no state to drive yourself."

Brennan searched her numb mind. She had no idea where Russ was. Angela and Hodgins were off following up a lead on Angela's mystery husband. Zach couldn't drive. There was only one person she could think of to call. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled down to the number, handing the phone over to the doctor.

She barely heard the words that the doctor spoke over the phone, but a moment later, he was patting her on the shoulder, reassuring her that someone was on their way. Brennan managed to nod in response.

The wait was a blur. Later she would vaguely recall someone handing her pamphlets on funeral homes and services, a friendly nurse forcing her to drink a glass of water, and the doctor doing his best to console her. She fixed her eyes on her hands, clenched in her lap.

She didn't hear the brief words exchanged between him and the doctor when he finally arrived. She didn't see the look of sadness and concern on his face as he observed her from across the room, lost within herself. She didn't see feel him sit beside her on the doctor's sofa, but when a warm hand covered both of her cold, clenched hands, she knew who it was.

"Let's go Bones," he said softly.

* * *

Four days had passed, yet reality had failed to sink in. It was the morning of the funeral and still, Brennan was unable to fully grasp what had happened. She stood, feeling a bit lost, in her bedroom, clad in heels, hose, a skirt, and a bra. She didn't know what to wear. What was she supposed to wear to her father's funeral?

Frustration crept up her throat, and she began tearing her closet apart, ripping shirts off hangers, occasionally throwing one on her bed as a possibility. When she finished, there were at least seven shirts to pick from sprawled across her bed, and she felt more lost than ever. How did anyone ever do this?

Brennan's eyes flicked up to the clock and her chest almost closed up with panic. As the only family of the deceased, Brennan was supposed to have arrived an hour and a half early to the funeral home. She was late. Tears of frustration and helplessness pricked at her eyes. She couldn't do this.

A brisk knock on her front door shocked Brennan out of her tears, and she left her bedroom quickly to go answer the door. Booth certain looked surprised to be greeted by the sight of his shirtless partner, but he recovered quickly and strode in.

"You're running late," he stated quietly. "I thought you might need a ride."

His voice was so comforting and familiar that the tears returned to Brennan's eyes and she felt a sob fight to be let out of her chest. Still, she fought for control.

"I can't go Booth," she replied, anguished. "I can't… I can't…"

It took her a minute to realize that she was repeating herself over and over, in between weak, exhausted sobs. It took another minute to realize that her partner's arms were around her, stroking her hair gently and ignoring her state of undress. Her face now hidden in the expanse of Booth's dress shirt, she allowed herself to let go.

"It was too soon Booth…" she managed to choke out between sobs. "I wasn't ready for this."

"I know," he whispered, rocking her back and forth slowly. "I know."

Slowly, her sobs quieted and she allowed herself to lift her head. Booth's hand found her cheek and she mustered a tiny smile as he attempted to wipe the moisture from her face. He returned her miniscule smile, his eyes dark with a profound sadness.

"You ready to go Bones?" he asked her softly.

The gently-spoken question seemed terrifying to Brennan. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, hugging herself unsurely.

"I don't know what to wear," she admitted in a small voice.

Booth nodded at this and disappeared into her bedroom. When he returned seconds later, a shirt was dangling from his hands. He handed it to Brennan, who took it tentatively.

"Here Bones," he said. "This one's perfect."

He carefully adverted his eyes as she slipped it on. When she was finished, he gave her an approving nod, and reached his hand out for hers. Brennan stared at the hand for a beat, and then took a deep, bracing breath before taking it.

"Okay," she told him, her voice steady for the first time in days. "I'm ready."

* * *

A/N: Sorry that was so depressing, but I guess personal experience has a tendency to butt its way into writing sometimes and unfortunately my recent experiences have covered this area. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to the feeling that someone they loved was taken too soon.

* * *


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